Voila! Dinner is served. With crispy potatoes and honey mustard carrots.
Don't forget the orange sauce.
Dinner: after. Cider courtesy of Monteiths. Also, if you're wondering why we have 3 rubix cubes on the table, it's because 2 of them are salt and pepper mills. The third one is an actual rubix cube put there to confuse people.
Merry Christmas! I'm sitting in the kitchen wearing a brand new 'Scotland' apron (thanks Adam) which I have already managed to coat in such things as flour, icing sugar, chocolate, oranges, and duck juices. This morning I made my first 'Yule Log' (up until yesterday I'd never even heard of one) but turns out it is mostly just a swiss roll. I've now got a 2kg duck slow-roasting in the oven thanks to Crash Test Kitchen - so if it doesn't work, I'm blaming them. It came with vegetable stuffing already included thanks to the excellent folks at Gus's and I'm planning to do up an orange sauce with some roasted vegies to boot. It's a little nerve racking, this being my first Christmas dinner, and me having no back-up plan if it fails, but I figure, how hard can it be (she says flippantly, ignoring everything she has learnt thus far)? The trickiest part is making sure the oven temperature stays true.
I actually forgot how awesome Christmas is. Ben is working which is a big pile of plops but we had a lovely morning opening gifts and skyping with the Scottish contingent. Life is wonderful.
Keep your fingers crossed for my poor little ducky-wuck, and I'll keep you updated.
Last Saturday, I did my first public performance with the Glory Bound Groove Train. It was not in a pub, as promised, but a proper Christmas mass (sort of). Leichhardt Community Church held a fundraiser for Cambodian orphans of HIV/AIDS with the coming together of four local congregations of different denominations. It was a small but beautiful church, filled with people, many of whom were performing themselves over the 2-hour long event. The prepatory email from choirleader beforehand noted: "Will it be daggy? -yes. Will it be fun? - daggy IS fun." I enjoyed this sentiment.
Ben got quite anxious in the lead up. Neither of us had spent any real time in a church for a veeery long time, not for anything other than weddings or funerals anyway. I got weirdly excited about it. I've actually never attended a Christmas mass, and this one was going to be mostly carols! I told him he didn't have to come if he was uncomfortable, but he was steadfast, and determined to stay for at least our second stint - the choir sang at three different points during the night.
We had to learn "Prepare Ye The Way of the Lord" on the fly when we arrived. Fortunately it has only one line, and being an alto, my part was the melody which I already knew. After asking for peace on earth and good will to all humanity, the carols began. Such a small but resonant building filled with powerful voices was quite overwhelming. Other performers contributed. There was a bluegrass trio, three precocious brothers playing guitars and belting out self-composed Christmas songs (like Hanson, if they were John Williamson's kids), some soloists. We got up after this to do "Out of The Depths" - a solemn, majestic hymn-like song, "In The Morning" - a more uptempo call-and-response number with the lovely Lisa taking solo position, and "Soon I Will Be Done" - a proper gospel spiritual with hand clapping and a good old "ohhhh" hollered in the middle for good measure. It was magical. Ben said that some people actually walked into the church off the street because they were lured by the singing. As we sang the opening number, I could hear the voices swelling and soaring around the room. Was what I was feeling a response to the music, or to the whole experience? Religion is a touchy issue at best, and having not kept more than a private vigil to it since my Catholic school days, I couldn't help but try to interpret the emotion. However, I've been known to get blubbery listening to the likes of Hot Chip sometimes ('One Life Stand' is actually really powerful, okay??), so I tried to just go with it and not get bogged down in logic for a change.
After that Mic Conway got up and did an insane mix of ukulele, vaudeville, magic tricks and tap dancing. I could not believe my ears when he did a performance piece on an evolutionary race. This really was progressive religion (and thank God for it). I was absolutely entranced by the whole thing and wondered how a guy who had won an ARIA award was now singing "Puttin' on the Ritz" inside a small community church. Brilliant.
More carols followed, more soloists, an offering and a prayer, then we returned to the altar to sing our last two songs: "Trouble in my Way" - another call and response with the basses taking the coveted solo, and finally "Every Time I Feel The Spirit". I was scared our clapping was going to steer us all over the place (rehearsals have been hit and miss) but we kept it together and closed on a high. It was such a fantastic thing to be a part of and I was so proud of us all. Even Ben said he'd enjoyed singing along with the carols.
All that prolonged singing in a range higher than I'm used to made me a bit woozy and I had to go straight home rather than stay for the supper after the show. Ben and Crunk came to collect me and I was fast asleep within about 10 minutes. Must have been all that cleansing of the soul.
Can I ask for a show of hands please? I have received 2 more postcards since the second deadline. I already have 29 challenges due to my need to have an overall game plan. Things are tough at the moment, but I also want to have good fodder for the book - drawing the line is an emotional battle, and I know that sounds overblown and dramatic but that was one of the surprise results of the experiment. The reactions that brewed.
I don't know what to do. I am taking suggestions. Please leave your comments...
Since a friend gave Crunk a once over (explaning everything the garage did wrong and what glitches we may still have to contend with), my piece of mind has been somewhat more at rest. At least we now know that he should, in theory, make it all the way out to the sticks and back for Christmas without anything breaking and leaving us stranded on the side of the road.
Newly invigorated, Ben is coaxing me back behind the wheel. He discovered an industrial area where we could practice driving on a quiet circuit and get used to changing gears. A big deserted carpark proved a good place to learn how to get the clutch and accelerator to speak to each other again. Mostly I am fine with changing up, but get a bit flustered changing down - it's trying to do this just before turning into a corner, for example, that makes my brain go "oh ok, that's just way too much to process all at once, so uh, I'll be over here singing early 90s TV themes if you need me. 'Kay? ". Thanks, brain.
Ben probably deserves a medal for stepping into Instructor boots with no prior experience. It is kind of nice to do this in a car that doesn't belong to the driving school, and doesn't have a second set of controls. I can be confident that I am directly responsible for everything the car is doing, and I can experiment in my own time. Yes, I had to stall the car 28 times before I figured out the magical clutch/accelerator combo again, but now I know I can do it. Of course you can take your foot off the break when you leave your other foot on the clutch and want to start moving. That's kind of the whole point. But starting and stopping fluidly is my largest hurdle at the moment and small milestones feel very big.
My curbside parking leaves a lot to be desired, but that's another milestone for another time.
We walked from The Spit to Balmoral on Sunday. Sort of. We walked it… just not along the coast. Ok, so maybe I should have read the instructions more thoroughly. Or maybe they should just write “YOU CAN’T DO THIS WALK AT HIGH TIDE” in huge letters across every page of the walk guide.
Ben and I packed a nice picnic and took the epic hour-long journey to The Spit. Once there, we had the same problem as we did the first time we started a walk from there. No signs. No indicators. No idea. How hard could it be? Just hug the coastline, right?
Not really. The first thing along the coastline was a boatclub, then private properties. We took a road heading up, with a view over the excessive wealth of north Sydney. Eventually we noticed some pretty young things and hep young cats in towels and sunglasses heading down a steep road. I asked if we could get to Balmoral from there. They said this road would lead to Chinaman’s Beach, but walking to Balmoral was a bit of a risk at high tide unless you wanted an adventure. We’d have to cling to cliff faces and stumble over rocks with water up over our ankles. I wasn’t prepared to physically hug the coastline. The book hadn’t said anything about that.
So instead, we went down to Chinaman’s Beach, walked along it, and up a path at the other side. We ended up back on a main road, and had no choice but to follow it all the way to Balmoral. It was a stinking hot day and the walk hadn’t been very pleasant. Fortunately Balmoral Beach is a bit lovely and we pulled up some blanket under the shade of a fig tree on the promenade for a good spot of dog watching. We tag teamed at swimming. My first ocean dip of the summer: brisk and seaweed-y.
In short, apparently this walk works a lot better if you start at Balmoral, and don’t go at high tide.
The next leg will probably take us all the way to Taronga Zoo. Let’s just hope we get a couple of cooler days at the start of new years (not likely, but a girl can dream).
I think it was the December of 2003 that we went camping for New Years, somewhere out near Tathra. As a glaring reflection of the pop culture at that time, an unintentional game of Survivor played out. I was in Team Shakira. Team Aguilera didn’t stand a chance. Carly’s Mum had thoughtfully provided the immunity: a hideously ugly belt made of seeds and shells, a gift from a recent trip to Thailand. At the end of the trip, we decided there was no more worthy recipient of the immunity than Mr Bump, Carly’s car. He had taken quite a beating traversing the dirt trails and ditches, and done a stellar job of getting us back out again. Despite his age, Mr Bump delivered us many hours of carefree motoring.
Last month, Mr Bump succumbed to the great big scrapheap in the sky. Yesterday, we received the immunity belt in the mail. Thanks Carly-le!
There has been a whole lot of stuff going on with Crunk that I have not blogged about. At this point, I’d like to say “one of which times ended up like this” and insert a picture, but technology is not my bitch and the photo in question will have to remain on my tantrum-throwing phone (sooo getting an iPhone for Christmas). Let’s just say that the roadside scenery 55km south of Canberra is lovely at this time of year.
Immunity has found a new home with Crunk, and I am placing what I know is a farcical amount of faith in it. I attempted to drive the car back from choir practice yesterday, but an unfamiliar car, in the dark and hilly backstreets of Petersham, is not a good combination for someone who has pretty much forgotten everything she has learnt. Then we saw that it was leaking something.
I hate you, car.
In other news, the choir are singing at Leichhardt Community Church (cnr Lord and Foster Sts) at 7pm-ish this Saturday 18th December with some other acts. Now, for anyone scared of walking into a church, don’t panic. Apparently there were drag queens performing last year. So I think you’ll be ok. Besides, we’re not half bad, so if you’re interested please come along! Plus I just found out that that the show is also a fundraiser (as with all things choir, the details were classically vague but I’m sure it was for a good cause), so in your face, challenge Number #2!
Two videos in as many days? I know. It's utter madness. And I also did laundry, bought groceries, played Wii, spent a ridiculous amount of time fiddling with speakers and amplifiers just so I could get disgruntled at my lack of synthesizer skills, accidentally terrified a cat, and momentarily became entranced by the pounding bass emanating through the ceiling.
"Kitty, I'm a train wreck" is a lyric I've had floating about in my repertoire for a while, waiting for an appropriate place to live. I tend to find that my own stuff is slightly darker than the material we write collaboratively in Dusker, and I'm also not a guitar genius like Jacob, so the songs always start from a different place. I'm feeling more at ease with writing on my own again, something I haven't done since the early London days circa 2007.
Anyway, I came up with the chords at the end of last week but only got around to writing the lyrics and melody inside my own head yesterday. Today was the first day I have physically put them together, so it is reassuring that it comes together the way I expected it to.
It wasn't until I made this recording and played it back that I realised the melody in the bridge is exactly the same as one of the chorus lines in 'Breaking The Girl'. Damn you subconscious! Next time I give blood I hope they are playing Beatles records.
Congratulations, folks, you're the proud recipient of a brand new baby video.
I know I'm way overdue with these, but I'm gonna catch up soon. I actually wrote this song in time for October's due date, I just hadn't got around to putting it up yet. (Yes I am aware it is now December).
So, I survived my first foray into blood-giving. Yay me!
The kindly folks at Leichhardt mobile blood bank went out of their way to make me feel special as a new donor. I couldn’t bring myself to actually look at any of the process taking place, but I lay there for just under 10 minutes or so, squeezing the little squeezy toy, staring at the ceiling and trying to concentrate on ‘Breaking The Girl’ which was being piped into the building from somewhere. The anticipation of it was the worst thing. Then the jab. Then it just kind of aches a little, but it isn’t so bad. It was only around halfway through that I started to feel a slight pulse of the blood flowing out. They filled 4 bags (it’s around 470mls, which is less than 10% of the total body’s volume of blood) and I can tell you, it was top grade stuff. It was red and everything.
They let me lie on the table for a while longer since it was my first donation, and then they gave me some Anzac cookies, a Mars Bar and a mini packet of Doritos. Best justification of treats ever! I could get used to this.
The Briscoe bandwagon is rolling with gusto, although it is less of a wagon and more like Bart’s lounge room, and less like rolling and more like rocking. Bam! I didn’t even plan that sentence. I just come up with this stuff. Did some awesomely fun gang vocals on Sunday, and whoever wasn’t at the mic was engaged in a game of tag team scrabble. Playing “pixies” over a triple word score for 54 points still wasn’t enough to win it for me, but something about board games makes me gleefully happy. I think it is to do with my sibling-less childhood and the fact I never had anyone to play them with. Insert pity. Yes, I am that pathetic.
Anyway, it is great being in someone else’s band and not having any pressure to really do anything but turn up and play your bit.
I’m reading Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks just now, and it is fascinating. The kind of fascination I experience when I’m trying to eat dinner and watch a David Attenborough documentary at the same time – it just ends up being a fork hovering in the air with my mouth partially opened, eyes glued to the mating dance of the Birds of Paradise. That’s what this book is like. Thinking about the weirdness of the brain makes my brain fry. I mentioned earlier my intrigue at the juxtaposition of a perfect melodic singer having seemingly little sense of natural rhythm. Apparently it is not so uncommon. Another thing that tickled my fancy was the creation of music from silence – to write, I often have to spend a long period of time untouched by sound. It’s as if it gives the music a chance to crawl in. I thought that was pretty weird, since surely sitting at an actual instrument or at least humming a tune would be the most sensible way to birth a song, but it turns out I’m not too much of a freak after all. Which is not to say that I don’t occasionally pick up a guitar and noodle out the start of something. Because I did yesterday. It was very exciting.
There’s a free seminar on climate change supposed to be happening on campus here at lunch time, so I’m going to go sit in on it and take some notes. Of course, that’s providing that any of our students show up to it. Which they probably won’t.
Tomorrow is Blood Bank day. It’s a bit annoying actually because we’re going out to see The Fall tonight and it means I won’t be able to drink anything. All for the greater good. If you’re a B+ in need, then boy do I have a Christmas gift for you.
It feels different, being off on a weekday. I don't have the overwhelming desire to stab anyone, I can't feel the horrible sensation of my soul leaking out, I don't even need to discretely flee into the bathroom and sob! It's awesome!
Needless to say I have not achieved much today, although I did watch Yo Gabba Gabba and see Wayne Coyne wearing 2 hats at the same time. I have done some noodling on the guitar, but sadly my crowning achievement there was discovering that "I'm Never As Tired As When I'm Waking Up" by LCD Soundsystem has the same chorus chords as "Live In Sunshine" by The Rapture. I wonder if James has ever noticed this.
Choir was enjoyable yesterday as we got to sing inside the church rather than in the little hall off the side of it. The resonance seemingly made the group a bit nervous. We got used to it. I am coming to realise what a funny thing rhythm is, and how not everybody naturally has it (even people who can sing beautifully). Being inside a church again was an experience in itself. I wonder if Cadbury is aware that Advent had this purple business sorted out long before they copywrited it.
In short: I'm not making any progress, but at least I'm a little less insane.
